


Training Tales AU: Training Interrupted

by Habernero



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: M/M, Porn, Shaving, Willpower fail
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-10
Updated: 2015-06-10
Packaged: 2018-04-03 18:55:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4111459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Habernero/pseuds/Habernero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As a small token of goodwill to parties grievously injured by the lack of erotic resolution in Training Tales: an AU continuation of <i>the shaving scene</i> in which Harry's self-control is less than adequate to the task of resisting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Training Tales AU: Training Interrupted

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Slenderlock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slenderlock/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Training Tales](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4075840) by [Calico](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calico/pseuds/Calico), [Habernero](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Habernero/pseuds/Habernero). 



> **Warning** : written in an evening and unbeta’d, aka rushed & raw just like SOMEBODY wants it. 
> 
> Good luck making sense of it if you haven’t read Training Tales (objectively better) first.
> 
> ***

Eggsy was smirking at him. “Told you,” he said, getting out a shaving kit Harry recognised from an exclusive glass cabinet in the tailor’s shop. “Can’t trust you with a blade right now.”

“But we can trust _you_?”

“My weaponry scores are excellent,” Eggsy said, drawing a straight razor across its strop a few times, and it should have been unnerving but instead Harry found he had to wet his lips. 

“Where did you get the kit, anyway?”

“Borrowed it.” Butter wouldn’t melt. 

“Very nice,” Harry said, because it was; all curved handles of polished wood and gleaming brass inlay. And Eggsy seemed to know what he was doing - to a point. He used the brush to swirl up an impressive lather in the cup of his hand—then used his hand to smooth it over Harry’s jaw. Across his cheek, up to his ear, down to the base of his throat. Then the other side, Eggsy leaning in, all bitten lip and rapt attention. 

“You’re supposed to use the brush for that too,” Harry said, trying not to move his lips, and Eggsy gave him another innocent look. 

“Oops.”

The brush came up then, buffing up the lather over Harry’s cheeks, and then Eggsy rinsed his hands and reached for the razor, and Harry found himself sitting up very straight. 

“Probably easier if I…” Eggsy said, and pushed Harry’s knees apart, insinuating himself in between. 

“Mm,” Harry said, looking up at him. Their proximity was… distracting. He had a sudden, vivid image of himself leaning forwards, kissing the flat of Eggsy’s stomach, tasting the skin at the angle of his hip; feeling the smooth warm lines of muscle clenching beneath his tongue. Not a wise move, under the circumstances. 

Eggsy rinsed and wrung out the flannel again, then held it under Harry’s chin and angled his face to one side. Harry shivered at the first touch of metal, caught between the pleasure of contact and the frisson of unease that a blade just out of his line of sight would always elicit. Eggsy’s movements were confident, though, his concentration absolute as he started to shave him: slow strokes at first, against the grain, curving around Harry’s cheekbones and gliding against the edge of his jaw, then a series of quick deft passes, tidying up, all the small sensitive places, the delicate slopes of lips and chin. 

Harry closed his eyes, luxuriating in the clean sharpness running over his skin; the rough heat of the flannel; the guidance of Eggsy’s fingers, steady and assertive. He was bloody good, Harry found himself thinking. Someone had trained him well. 

He ignored the slight pang that went through him, then—that he hadn’t been the one doing the training. 

“There you go,” Eggsy said, under his breath. “Just let me…”

Harry let Eggsy tilt his head back, baring his throat, then sucked in a couple of deep breaths when Eggsy skated the razor right down to his collarbone without slowing down. There was no telltale sting of a cut, though, no sizzle of pain; Eggsy’s weapon scores were indeed excellent. He repeated the swift stroke down the other side of Harry’s neck, then took the central line of his Adam’s apple more slowly, dabbing with the hot cloth as he went. Harry found he was coming out in goose-pimples, as if the rest of the hair on his body was tingling in sympathy, and by the time Eggsy had reapplied the shaving foam and moved on to the second pass - a closer shave, with the grain now, and only a fraction slower - Harry had the edge of the bath in a white-knuckled grip, molten shivers coursing all over. 

It wasn’t the first time he’d let another man shave him, but it was the first time he hadn’t been naked throughout proceedings. There again, he was only wearing hospital-issue pyjamas now. And beneath them, nothing. 

He let his knees rest on the outside of Eggsy’s legs, feeling the heat of him coming easily through the thin fabric. 

Eggsy paused at that, long enough that Harry opened his eyes. Eggsy’s gaze was like a sunbeam on his face, dazzling and warming him in equal parts. He looked _painfully_ turned on. God only knew what he’d been thinking about, having Harry sitting obediently in front of him like this. Harry realised his own mouth was slightly open, lips parted; he supposed he may have made a few noises. 

For a moment, it seemed impossible that Eggsy wouldn’t lean down and kiss him. The promise of it hung in the air between them like the dizzying steam, as Eggsy’s fingertips slid back up Harry’s throat and curled against his jaw. But—no, no, apparently he was just swiping off an errant smear of shaving foam, nothing more, and the next moment Eggsy was rinsing the flannel again and returning to dab at Harry’s cheek.

Harry swallowed and turned his face into it. He was being weak, he knew, but the pressure of Eggsy’s hand felt so damn good. He was fairly confident that Eggsy was hard; in his peripheral vision, Eggsy shifted his weight as he ran the hot cloth slowly over Harry’s face and neck. Harry rested his hands on his knees, feeling the shift of Eggsy’s jumpsuit trousers against the sides of his fingers. So warm. 

He let his hands meander inwards—over his own knees and then, inch by inch, up onto the warm stretches of fabric enclosing either side of Eggsy’s legs.

Eggsy froze, the hot flannel going still against the base Harry’s throat. 

Harry didn’t look up at him; didn’t acknowledge to either of them what he was doing. Just went with it - drifting - fitting his palms more securely against the planes of Eggsy’s thighs, fingers spreading to feel as much of that warm, muscular tension as possible. He felt a thin rivulet of hot water run down his neck and under the collar of the hospital-issue pyjamas; Eggsy’s fist had closed on the flannel, hard. The water tickled.

Harry let go with one hand to reach up to his own neck, rub at the tingling path the water had taken; his other hand stayed on Eggsy’s thigh, smoothing over it, venturing further back. 

The flannel dropped to the bathroom floor, spattering at Harry’s bare foot. 

“Harry,” Eggsy croaked, voice hoarse as if he’d not spoken in weeks, and his thigh was _trembling_ , the muscle clenched and quivering beneath Harry’s palm.

Harry looked up at last. Eggsy’s eyes had a glazed look to them, pupils huge and dark. “Yes?”

“I—” Eggsy started, and broke off.

Harry let his hand drift onwards - and yes, drifting was the perfect word for this slow, languid movement - around onto the perfect shapely curve of Eggsy’s arse. 

“I—” Eggsy started again, and this time rushed on, voice almost desperate. “God, look - Harry, listen to me! - you’re not on like some insanely strong fuck-off painkillers, are you?”

Harry exhaled, grinning. “No,” he said, and leaned in, pressed his mouth against the fabric covering Eggsy’s hip. The muscles in Eggsy’s arse clenched pleasingly under his hand.

“Cos if you were,” Eggsy continued, his voice going up an octave, getting thready and rushed, “I should probably - like - I should—”

Harry brought his other hand back to Eggsy’s hip, thumb insinuating itself against the rough line of Eggsy’s zipper. He could feel the bulk of Eggsy’s cock beneath, pressing up hard. His own cock was a heavy hard weight between his thighs. “You should put me back to bed like a good little convalescent, or something.”

“Yeah,” Eggsy agreed, and then, panicked, “I mean—wait, is that what you want me to do?”

Harry tugged at the zip tab with his thumb and fingertip, pulling against resistance for a moment and then sliding it smoothly all the way down. “I want you to take your clothes off.”

“God,” Eggsy said faintly, and now he had his flies open Harry could _smell_ him, the musky heat coming off him, so fucking ready. The rest of the jumpsuit was still all buttoned up, right to the collar. 

Harry slid his thumb into the gap of Eggsy’s zip, toyed with the part of Eggsy’s cock he could reach, felt it twitch beneath his thin stretched underwear.

“ _God_ ,” Eggsy said again, and that had clearly spurred him into action; both hands flew to his throat, starting on the long row of buttons with ungainly haste.

Harry tipped his head back to watch, thumb still toying, toying. Eggsy’s eyes were half closed and his movements were clumsy; it was like he couldn’t take his attention off Harry long enough to tell his own hands what to do. It was… extremely gratifying. Harry waited for Eggsy to get the jumpsuit open to the waist, then leaned in again, nudging his chin into the open folds of clothing and pushing up Eggsy’s white shirt with his nose, seeking out the warm smooth bare expanse of the base of Eggsy’s stomach with his lips. 

Eggsy’s hands closed on Harry’s shoulders in a death-grip.

“That,” Harry said, voice muffled against Eggsy’s hot, smooth skin, “is more like it. And the rest.” He drew a straight line with his thumbnail down the fabric stretched over Eggsy’s cock, to where it disappeared into the folds of the jumpsuit once more.

“ _Harry_ ,” Eggsy gasped, struggling out of his sleeves, and Harry sucked on the skin above the line of his underwear, tasting sweat and salt, smelling the industrial-laundry-powder tang of the jumpsuit, and feeling more fucking alive than he had all year. 

“Come on,” Harry said, his own breath coming a little quicker. He just wanted to _devour_ him. “Get it all off, then. Hurry up.”

Eggsy gave a strangled laugh, undoing his belt in a couple of quick jerks, fingers flying to the final buttons. “ _Now_ you want me to hurry up,” he said, “after like, fucking _weeks_ of—”

Harry felt the tension give as the last button came undone. He took two crumpled handfuls of Eggsy’s clothes - jumpsuit and underwear together - and tugged them to the floor, and whatever Eggsy had been going to say was lost in a volley of heavy breathing. 

“Better,” Harry said, with satisfaction, and then slowly rubbed his clean-shaven cheek against the hard, pink, perfect jut of Eggsy’s cock. 

“Jesus,” Eggsy gasped, hands closing on Harry’s shoulders once more, and Harry turned in to let the length of it slide over his face, brush against his parted wet lips. “Jesus _fucking_ Christ.”

Harry felt a smear of pre-come glide against his cheekbone, and turned his face up to seek out the slick head of Eggsy’s cock with his mouth. “Now, now,” he said, finding the foreskin half pulled back and helping it the rest of the way with his tongue, “no need to bring blasphemy into it.”

The noise Eggsy made was a cross between a laugh and a moan, and his hands slid up from Harry’s shoulders to curl somewhere between deferential and desperate in his hair.

“But by all means,” Harry continued, letting the thick head settle on his lower lip, brushing his tongue wetly over it between words, “feel - free - to call out - _my_ name - if the urge takes you.” 

“ _Harry_ ,” Eggsy said readily, and all the hairs on the back of Harry’s neck stood up. Dear _God_ but he’d waited a long time for that sound. “Fuck, Harry, _please_ —“

He wanted to make a quip about Eggsy asking so nicely - begging so politely - but there was no room for any more words because he was closing his mouth around the head of Eggsy’s cock and sucking, hard. The sound Eggsy made was eloquent enough for both of them. Harry’s hands groped up the backs of Eggsy’s bare thighs, closing both hands on that lovely arse and squeezing, tugging Eggsy a half-step forwards, coaxing his cock to ride right to the back of his tongue. 

“Oh fuck, oh Harry, oh fuck,” Eggsy gasped, swaying in Harry’s hands, cock pushing over Harry’s tongue and hitting the back of his mouth. Harry tilted his head so that Eggsy didn’t make his eyes water, sucking at the slide of Eggsy’s dick but mostly just letting him move, and Eggsy’s words dissolved into a flurry of bitten-off _noises_ , sweet and soft and utterly obscene. 

“Mm,” Harry found himself urging, “ _mmh_ ,” as Eggsy fucked his mouth, cock swelling harder than ever and painting his tongue in warm salty smears. When Harry had been Eggsy’s age, he found himself thinking, he might have been overwhelmed by the onslaught; instead he just found it intensely fucking exhilarating. 

“Oh God,” Eggsy panted, “I mean—Harry,” and Harry grinned around his dick, pushed all his fingers into Eggsy’s cleft and spread the cheeks of his arse wide, “I mean— _fuck_ —“

Harry felt the warning pulse of it and liked it, let him deeper; bearing the smarting discomfort of it to let Eggsy shove right to the brink of his throat, and then swallowing and moaning soft approval as Eggsy came and came and came, thrusting deep into Harry’s mouth as Harry deliberately, persistently sucked him dry. 

“Oh Jesus—God—fuck—Harry,” Eggsy blurted, voice breathy and weak now, and Harry pulled off him with a smirk and looked up, meeting his eye before swallowing again and licking his lips.

“Quite a Pantheon.” 

Eggsy fell on him with a groan, pressing their faces together and kissing his mouth hard, shaky, desperate.

“God, Harry,” he muttered, knees between Harry’s feet, arms around his neck, “you fucking—you give really good head,” and kissed him and kissed him, mouth open, soft and savouring.

“Glad you think so,” Harry said, against Eggsy’s tongue, swiping it with his own and sucking lightly, drawing him in. 

“This better not be—a fucking—dream,” Eggsy said fervently, a few seconds later, and the sudden alarm in his voice made Harry laugh. 

“It better not be,” he agreed. “If I wake up now, I’m never going to know how you returned the favour.”


End file.
